


I Was Once A King

by NephilimEQ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Introspection, Longing, M/M, lots of Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel finds one of Dean's shirts and muses on how much he's given up for one man, and if it was worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Once A King

 

**I Was Once A King**

Cas fingered Dean’s shirt, mesmerized by the color, mentally going over it in his mind. Dean was off on a case with Sam, outside of the bunker, as Cas continued to recover from Rowena’s spell. He had decided, on an impulse, to step into the hunter’s room to look for possible reading material. Surprisingly enough, Dean had more books in his room than Sam did, and Cas was eager to see what kind of books caught Dean’s eye. However, he had been distracted by the shirt that he’d found uncharacteristically haphazardly discarded on the bed. As if drawn to it by magnetic force, Cas found himself sitting on the end of the hunter’s bed, holding said shirt in his hands.

It still smelled like him. Iron, salt, and a touch of something warm and familiar…cinnamon. That was it.

But that’s not what held him captive. Not the scent…but the color.

Tyrian purple.

He knew its’ origins: how the kings of old had worn it in their robes, the price of the color far more valuable than even silver, the color denoting their rank and importance. And, unlike all of the other colors, it did not fade in sunlight, but rather it darkened and intensified over time, becoming a more potent reminder to all those who looked upon it of their kings and rulers, of who their true leaders were.

Cas thought on that small fact and a faint smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.  _It does not fade in sunlight, but deepens and brightens with every passing day._

The words came to him like a long forgotten verse, but a twinge of pain in his chest had him putting the shirt back down on the bed, his fingers trailing down the sleeve as though longing to feel the person inside of it, instead of just an empty shell.

He knew that it took steeping in liquor, lead, and salt in order to achieve the desired color that was favored of many monarchs and sovereigns of the past, and it could not have suited Dean more. The significance was not lost on him. A hint of whiskey on his breath, the scent of iron lead gun powder lingering on his skin, and the stain of salt on his clothes was what made up the man that was Dean Winchester.

Castiel ran his thumb once more across the fabric and smiled, a touch of sadness lingering in his eyes. There was a dignity to the color that brought back memories of Roman emperors, of men who could only hope to be _half_ as great as Dean Winchester was. Dean was more than a leader, more than a Hunter; he was more than any human man had the right to be. He was the Righteous Man, after all, and it was hard to give him such a meager title as friend. Dean was more than a friend. More than a comrade in arms.

Something about the man seemed to call out to the universe in silent defiance of every prophecy or burden ever placed upon him. Something that was an integral part of Dean’s soul seemed to scream out into the darkness and resonate one word to anyone or anything that might determine his destiny…and that one word was _No._ He would not be used, he would forge his own path, and Castiel marveled that his Father had chosen an angel such as him to be the one to save him.

How was it that he’d been given that chance?

Yes, Castiel was an angel, and he had once been greatly respected by many and sought after as a leader for his discipline and firm belief in the angelic cause of serving their Father…but now he was nothing. He did not deserve to be by the Righteous Man’s side.

He had once been immovable, an angelic force to be reckoned with.

Now, he was a broken shell, not quite angel, not quite human, lost in the dizzying turn of the earth around him, trapped without wings to lift him, even though he still felt as though he was drifting, without any real purpose left.

But he wasn’t alone.

Dean inexplicably wanted him to stay. He repeated those three words over and over again, until Cas finally understood what he meant. The words were always the same: _I need you._  But now, Castiel knew what Dean was truly trying to say but was never able to.

And so, because of that, he could live with being adrift, no longer a mountainous force of wrathful, awe-inspiring anger. He could live with being another cog in the turn of the universe…so long as Dean stayed by his side.

It didn’t matter that he no longer held dominion.

It didn’t matter that his wings might never return.

It didn’t matter.

Because he had Dean.

Smiling a soft, genuine smile, he put the shirt back on the bed and walked out the door, his thoughts still lingering on the color, wondering if Dean would ever know of its’ significance. If Dean would ever know that he was greater than those who had worn it before him in so many unfathomable ways.

Castiel just shook his head at the thought.

No. He’d never know or understand. But that was okay.

The door closed behind him.

 


End file.
